


Christmas Eve

by Minx_DeLovely



Series: The Sally Donovan Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sally Donovan Appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minx_DeLovely/pseuds/Minx_DeLovely
Summary: Sally Donovan is having a drink alone at a bar on Christmas Eve. Sherlock Holmes sits down with her for a chat.(A sympathetic take on Sally Donovan.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Sally Donovan
Series: The Sally Donovan Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080548
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Christmas Eve

Sally sat at the bar, watching the ice in her Cheeky Vimto melt. She had no plans on actually drinking it after she took the first sip, but it was a Christmas tradition anyway. She and Charlotte would drink them together on Christmas Eve, at that very bar. Even though her best friend was in the states for the holidays, Sally had sent her a picture of the glass with a text wishing her Merry Christmas Eve. Charlotte sent a photo of herself pumping breast milk whilst holding up a mug of coffee. That had sent Sally into paroxysms of laughter until the chuckles dwindled to silent tears.

The text from her auntie asking when she was going to forgive Uncle Lionel and come home for Christmas did not make her laugh. Nor did the texts from her cousins and her mother, urging her to stop holding a grudge. Those had driven her to order a vodka tonic, no ice. She drank that and had another in quick succession, and she could almost feel the eyes on her. A woman out alone. Even in her work clothes she still looked a little bit cute. She could feel them circling like vultures and she was the dead meat. It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of place. Most of the people around her were out celebrating with friends and family. Still, there was the odd man alone, looking for someone to blunt the edges. 

That’s why it came as no surprise when she felt someone standing close behind her, even though the room wasn’t packed and he leaned over her to order a Vesper. At least he smelled alright.

“Spending Christmas Eve alone? I’d imagine it’s difficult when Anderson is sharing the holidays with his wife, but I thought you came from a big extended family. No room at the inn, Officer Donovan?” When Sherlock Holmes spoke, she could feel the rumble in the pit of her stomach, like a train rattling over the tracks. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she went from regular sad and irritated to irrational rage almost instantaneously. Entitled fucking freak. It happened the first moment they met when she asked why a civilian was allowed to tromp through a crime scene, touching evidence and barking orders and he’d demanded she get him a cup of coffee. Watch and you can learn something, he’d said. After that point she only saw red when he set foot anywhere near her. Her schooling, her experience, her gunshot wound that she’d earned saving a child during a sideways hostage situation—none of that mattered to this posh son of a bitch with his made-up credentials and special, special mind. He got to constantly insinuate about her sex life, and when he latched onto the bit with Anderson, he hadn’t let that go. It had dogged her afterward. Slutty, slutty Sally. No one believes a slut.

“Freak.”

“Charming,” he said, and threw money down on the bar right next to her. “But you’ve been checking your phone for the past hour. Not waiting for someone—the little photo exchange and the giggles showed that you never intended to meet anyone here. No, your family is trying to talk you into coming home and you don’t want to go. Why not, Officer Donovan?”

She wondered why he cared—cared wasn’t the word—why he was interested. On the verge of telling him to mind his own business, he interrupted her.

“There’s someone there you don’t want to see, someone who normally isn’t. Why? Old feuds, and why would this person be there when he wasn’t before?”

“Maybe you’re wrong,” Sally snapped.

Sherlock pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. The bartender brought his Vesper in a cobalt blue martini glass.

“I’m not.”

“You’re wrong about me and Anderson. He’s gay.” As soon as she said it, Sally wished she could clap her hand over her mouth and take it back. Sherlock had gotten her so angry that she’d blurted it out, and betrayed her closest friend on the force. “Please don’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He chuckled and she got even more disgusted with herself.

“I won’t. But what about the state of your knees?” He seemed genuinely curious rather than defensive, not what she would have thought at all.

“I changed a fuse in his basement and had to kneel down on the floor to find them.” Her voice dipped with discomfort. “We were making fish fingers in the toaster oven and it overloaded everything.”

“That’s almost too wholesome.”

“His boyfriend has little ones. I was babysitting over his place.” She took a swallow of her drink and wondered why she was still talking to him, digging deeper. “She knows. His wife. I think she has her own reasons for sticking it out. Money, that kind of thing. Please don’t tell anyone. He’s not ready to come out.”

“I’ll be discreet, if you tell me why you’re not going home for Christmas.”

She stared at her hands wrapped around the cold glass. People around her were laughing and talking—a merry din. A fire in the fireplace crackled behind them. If she didn’t cooperate with him, he would have no reason to keep Anderson’s secret, the secret she’d been entrusted with, the one that could destroy his whole life. She decided if Anderson’s life was in Sherlock Holmes’ hands because of her, then she deserved the same turn.

“You’re right. I don’t want to go home because my uncle is going to be there. He just got out of jail.”

“For what?”

She swallowed hard. “I lived with him and my auntie for a little while because my mum was having some issues. Drugs. He’d been abusive to me. Lots of ways abusive. I told some of my family and they didn’t believe me. It went on. I ran away. A few years later he got in trouble for stealing some money from his church. Back then he’d been a pastor. He’s out of prison now and they want me to open my arms.”

“Ah.”

“I ‘spose all kinds of things are making sense to you now.” She smiled bitterly. “It’s always like that. Oh, that’s why you became a cop. That’s why you’re not married. All these things in life, these choices I make aren’t chalked up to me, they’re about him. Everything still gets to be about him. You’re the king of that’s why, so now you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” She downed the rest of her drink and started to slide off of her stool. He grabbed her arm and her heart started to pound. She wanted to bite him to make him let her go, sink her teeth into his pale flesh and make the blood rise. She wanted to bruise him so he’d have to think of her every time he saw the mark on his hand.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asked.

“You feeling guilty?”

“No. You’re just more interesting when you’re not insulting me.” He smiled genuinely at her. She’d never seen him do that before. She wondered why he’d decided to examine her. Part of her still thought he might be a sociopath, but since his return from the dead, she’d begun to think he was something else. The artifice that surrounded him was connected to that, somehow. He wasn’t a monster, so much as a spy, peering in on mere mortals. Sally decided to take his offer. It wasn’t the first time she let a bad man buy her a drink. The worst was already over—there was nothing he could do to her now.

Sally hopped back up onto the bar stool.

“We could eat as well. What’s good here?” Sherlock asked.

“They have veggie things. I like the seitan hot wings.”

“You don’t eat meat?”

“It’s a health thing.”

Sherlock flagged the bartender and ordered them some seitan hot wings and a platter of chips. When the boy tending bar left, Sally arched her brow at Sherlock.

“Why aren’t you with Dr. Watson?”

“He’s still miffed about my dying.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Sally rested her chin on her hand. Greg had cried. Anderson had nearly lost his mind. She was the only one who’d kept her head about Sherlock’s little magic trick.

“He’ll get over it, but until then I’m on my own. There’s no way I’m heading off to my parents’ house, so I thought I’d try to find some trouble.”

“And you found me instead.”

“Trouble can wait until Boxing Day.”

“You think we’re going to spend the night together?”

“Presumptuous. I just meant that Christmas day should be one of peace, don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

Sally swallowed a sip of the too-sweet Cheeky Vimto. He was right—she’d been presumptuous, almost looking to be offended by him. He’d never tried to touch her; she didn’t even know why she’d be thinking such a thing. Sex couldn’t be the angle. Maybe he just wanted to give her more opportunity to humiliate herself.

She noticed he didn’t touch his drink, but nerves had her downing hers. She was feeling it, too. The food would help soak up the booze. Better yet, if she could simply stop pouring it down her throat, but she didn’t. They talked about a case she’d been working on with Detective Gris. Her words were getting a little slippery on the corners. Sherlock seemed very amused by this, as she trudged through the conversation.

The food came and she tried her best to eat it. He watched her, in that unsettling way of his.

“I wonder what it would take to make you like me?” he asked.

“Why do you care?” She wiped her hands on a paper napkin.

“I don’t, but you liked John immediately. You warned him away from me.”

“He’s got that little face, hasn’t he?” She smiled despite herself. “Like you want to protect him. I dunno. You’re such a bully sometimes and John took it. I can’t stand bullies.”

“But you are one, aren’t you? Presenting me with the deerstalker cap. The cruel nickname.”

“I was fighting back. From the moment we met you’ve been making little comments about me, about who I’m shagging, implying that’s how I got my work.”

“I didn’t imply—”

“That’s what everyone else took from it. That’s what they always think before a man like you says something to confirm it anyway. You’re so bloody posh and handsome. You belong everywhere, you are welcome everywhere. I fight for every second to be tolerated. And then you imply I’m sucking my colleague off. What did you expect from me, Sherlock?” Sally had drunk enough to stoke her honesty, but even in her tipsy state, she knew not to raise her voice. If she raised her voice she’d be thrown out, and the pub was only a few blocks on from her flat. She’d never be able to show her face there and God forbid they should call the cops and she be shamed in front of her own people.

Sherlock leaned in to hear her as she spoke, so close their foreheads touched.

“It started before that. You called me Freak from the first.”

“Yeah. It started because you openly insulted my intelligence in front of my boss and he laughed. He laughed at your little joke and I had to pretend like he hadn’t.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She nearly fell off her seat. Sherlock caught her around the waist with one of his enormous hands. She put her arm around his, and held onto his elbow to steady herself. Her breath came faster and her heart thrummed. If he hadn’t caught her, she would’ve landed on her ass.

“You’re sorry?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I ‘spose I’m sorry, too.”

They separated and she stared at him. He nibbled on the chips. She took a few bites of wings before calling over the bartender and getting a glass of water. He took out his phone and tapped out a message. She drank half of the water before attempting to speak again.

“Why apologize now?” she asked.

“Because, you did a tolerable job when I was gone.” He didn’t glance up from his screen.

“Tolerable. Thanks.”

They finished the rest of the food with minimal conversation. Sally drank another glass and a half of water. She went to the loo, and by the time she came back, she was a lot more sure-footed.

“I should be headin’ out. This was nice. Unexpected, but nice,” Sally said.

“I’ll walk you out.”

He picked up her jacket off the back of the chair and held it up to help her into it, a chivalrous gesture she immediately found suspect. As soon as she was alone, Sally would check to see if there was anything missing or added to her pockets. Sally eased into her jacket. For a brief moment he brushed her neck with his cold fingers and she shivered. She zipped up and stared at him while he dropped money and picked up his winter things. He wound his blue scarf around his neck and it felt fascinating to watch his deft fingers lace and move. At that observation Sally decided maybe she was still a little drunk.

They went outside. The cold air sobered her even more.

“Split a cab?” He tilted his face to the sky. He looked like he was carved of stone, but the shimmery snowflakes falling from the sky melted on his sharp, pale cheeks. He was flesh just like everyone else.

“I can walk. It’s only a few blocks.”

He pulled on his black, leather gloves. “Shall I walk you to your door, or would you feel safer alone?”

“I guess you can walk with me. Fend off the other weirdos.”

He scoffed into his scarf. They walked side by side, hands in pockets. The mostly empty streets had a wet gloss on them, and the air was bitterly cold.

“If you had your cap on you, I’d wear it,” Sally said, cleaving slightly closer to him. His height blocked the wind very well.

“Pity I left it at home.”

“I heard it’s the source of your power, like Sampson and his hair. Maybe if you lent it out Lestrade would listen to me.”

“Perhaps you’d even solve a case.”

“Ha.” She rolled her eyes.

They got to her flat—she had a room above a pink-hued shop that sold brick-a-bract and candles; porcelain figures of round-faced children one would buy for their Nan, tea cozies with bible quotes stitched on. They used a vanilla air freshener or something that wafted up and made her rooms smell of cookies. Not that he’d go up to her room, except when she unlocked the outside door and began climbing up the florescent-lit stairwell, he followed her. Their footsteps echoed on the metal steps, bouncing off the dirty, white walls.

She glanced over her shoulder, skepticism loud on her face.

“I can make it upstairs alright,” she said. Sally got to her door and fumbled with the keys. He watched her. If it had been anybody else, she’d think he expected a shag, but this was Sherlock Holmes. This fool was supposed to be a genius. He had to know that wouldn’t work out in his favor, no matter how long his fingers were or how good he happened to smell.

She pushed open the door and his eyes widened. He looked almost terrified. Then he stooped down and pressed his mouth to hers. His hands found her waist again, like when he stopped her from falling. Before she could register it was happening, really, they were kissing.

They were kissing and her eyes were still open, but so was her mouth. Any second she was going to push him away from her, but he moaned against her lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She was sure this was a bad idea, but he was inexplicably a good kisser. He tasted like candy.

They were mostly in the hallway, but then he picked her up without ending the kiss. He spun her around so her back was flush with the closing door. She felt the latch click, but she didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she tilted her head back, elongating her neck. He kissed along the line of her throat. His leather gloves were freezing under her shirt. Her nipples were painfully hard before he even cupped her breast. When he finally pinched her pebbled nipple, it was her turn to moan. She opened her eyes.

She wanted to rip open his stupid, too tight shirt and nibble his skin until it flushed red. His lips were chafed with her kisses already and she wanted to leave her hand prints on him, make a mark. Instead, she pushed him away with her palm over his heart.

“We have to stop. I’ve been drinking. This is a mistake.”

He withdrew from her, his breath coming fast.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

“It’s okay.” She ran her hands through his hair. His curls were soft and it was so nice. She was losing her mind, touching him like that. “Do you want some tea or biscuits. My auntie bakes—she brought over treats, too much for me to finish.”

He cupped her face and ran his gloved thumb over her chin. “No, I should go. I’d like to stay too much, so it’s better to go now.”

She nodded. He kissed her forehead and then her cheek before he ducked out her door. Sally locked it behind him. Her skin still tingled and her body ached. What a mad thing—at least she could chalk it up to drink. She’d stopped it before it went too far and she could pretend it was all due to alcohol. If she was being honest, she knew half her animosity towards him had to do with attraction. She hated him like she hated chocolate cake and vodka tonics and actual meat that had come from a cow. She hated him because part of her wanted him even though he was very, very bad for her. He could crush up her confidence and snort it like she caught him snorting Adderall pills behind Lestrade’s back. Fucking Sherlock. 

She checked her jacket pockets and found them empty. After hanging her outerwear up in the hall closet, she decided to take a hot shower to wash away the shivers from his chilly fingers.

***

John was waiting for him in front of the little shop below Sally’s apartment. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he looked positively freezing in his short coat. Sherlock thought of how Sally described his best friend—“He’s got that little face, hasn’t he?”—and he smiled.

“She’s not the mole,” John said, as soon as Sherlock was in earshot.

“I know that. Tell me how we can prove it to my brother.”

“Um, her laptop. The messages sent to Moriarty—none of them originated from her laptop, except the final one. I was able to retrieve the information from her camera and it proves Gris broke in and sent it. There’s also footage on the video camera of him breaking in, from the little shop.” John held up a thumb drive he’d been hiding in his pocket. They started walking toward the cab stand down the street. 

“Huge bother coming out on Christmas Eve. You owe me one. Why do you care so much? I thought Donovan was a bit of a thorn in your side.”

Sherlock buttoned his coat.

“I just want to end the leaks. Convicting an innocent woman won’t accomplish that.”

“That why you kissed her?”

“I was trying to distract her so she didn’t see you crawling out her window. That was all.” Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure that was all, but he’d admit nothing more that evening.

“Thought people only did that in movies.” John grinned into his scarf.


End file.
